The Most Important Meal of the Day
by Scribbler
Summary: Some things in life are constant - they will forever miss Atem, Anzu will always wake up with bed hair, and Yuugi makes good toast. Hang on, wait a second ... what the heck is Yuugi doing at her kitchen table on a Sunday morning? And in his PYJAMAS?


**Disclaimer: **Whiffily not mine.

**A/N:** This is one of those stories that grew out of a first line I just could let go of. I live in fear of the day when people tire of these little slice-of-life ficlets. Set post-canon. Feedback appreciated.

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_**The Most Important Meal of the Day**_

© Scribbler, January 2009.

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In the end, it was the smell of toast that drew Anzu out of bed.

She pulled herself upright and blinked at the light inching around the drawn curtains. She'd picked them out when she was twelve and still really into Pink and Sparkly, and still liked the über-cute unicorn design even though Jounouchi made gagging noises whenever he saw them. It was already morning, judging by the brightness outside. Anzu rolled to her feet, scrubbed at her hair and yawned the way you only yawn when you're on your own – huge mouth, tongue sticking out, and making a noise like a sea-lion begging for fish.

She went into the bathroom and caught sight of herself in the mirror, which pulled her up short. She had bed hair, but worst on the very back of her skull. It reminded her of her baby pictures, which her mother had never insisted on getting out when they had guests, but which Jounouchi and Honda once thought it would be hilarious to find and look at. Anzu had been a podgy baby, rolls of fat making her arms look like sausage links and deepening the shadows around her eyes until her irises looked almost black instead of blue. Her mother always said a podgy baby was a healthy baby, and secretly Anzu thought skinny infants looked unhealthy, but she was still self-conscious enough to yank both Honda and Jounouchi by their ears when they made fun of her.

When she was a baby, Anzu had always slept her back and rolled her head from side to side, creating a huge clump of hair that never stayed down and was very rarely untangled. Her father used to joke that birds used it to nest in and then flew away just before they came in to wake her every morning. Until she was four Anzu had believed him, and tried to leave out crumbs for the birds on her bedside cabinet. She finally learned the truth when, after watching a documentary about garden wildlife, she found a dead worm on the path and tried to leave it out as well, and her parents had a row that ended with her father sitting her down and telling her he'd been joking.

"Great," she muttered, pulling at the knotted mass. "Sixteen years on and I still can't wake up looking glamorous. How the heck do movie stars do it when the paparazzi snap them first thing in the morning?" She then noticed the zit on her chin. "Aw, _man_!"

She set about washing, brushing her teeth, dragging a brush through the tangles and trying not to shriek when some came out by their roots. Tears gathered in her eyes, and the patch stayed sore as she yanked a sweater over her head and hopped around trying to pull up her jeans. She usually preferred skirts or shorts, offsetting both with leggings or tights to keep her legs warm when the weather got colder, but when she was slobbing around the house on her own she didn't much care how she looked. Every girl needed a day off, after all.

But not _completely_ off, she thought as she reached for her mascara. After all, she did have standards. However, still preoccupied with her hair she knocked the upright mascara over. It clunked into her face-wash, which fell against a bottle of Nair, and Anzu was left trying desperately to catch things as they tumbled off the precariously stacked dresser.

"No! Nonononononononono … oh, hell's _bum_!" she exclaimed as the last tube of liquid eye-shadow rolled against a tiny pot of moist wipes and they both clattered to the floor. The scene was one of total devastation – a massacre of foundation, blusher, blackhead purifier and facial cleansers.

Anzu started at it. It would take ages to clean up and restack everything. It was only when this sort of thing happened that she realised how much make-up she owned, and resolved not to buy any more (a resolution that usually lasted until the next half-price sale). She considered the mess for approximately three point two seconds before turning away. She slid her feet into her slippers, went into the hall and closed the door firmly behind her.

"Later," she promised. "I'll take care of it later. I'm going to go _au naturale_ today."

Downstairs the smell of toast was strong. Anzu wondered why her mother had made it, since she was usually so anti-carbs. Mazaki women typically ran to an hourglass body shape as they got older. So far Anzu was top-heavy in the chest department but had staved off the roundness below her waist through rigorous dance practise. Her mother had no such outlet, and so lived her life glaring at bread and chocolate, trying to convince herself she didn't like them.

The reason for the toast smell soon became apparent.

"G'mornin'." Yuugi hastily swallowed his mouthful and beamed. "I mean, good morning."

Anzu stopped in the doorway. "Huh?"

"Well," Yuugi amended, checking his watch. "For another ten minutes, anyway. Your mom already went to work. I figured I'd let you sleep in, since it's Sunday and you said you didn't have dance class today."

"Huh?" Anzu said again, trying to process what she was seeing. Yuugi was in her kitchen. Wearing pyjamas and looking rumpled. Reading a gaming magazine. At _her_ kitchen table. "Bwuh?"

Then she looked properly at the magazine, which wasn't actually a magazine at all, but a glossy leaflet from a company called 'Bug Away'.

Suddenly it all made sense.

Yuugi, however, registered her first shocked expression and missed when it segued into comprehension. "You're still okay with us staying here, aren't you?" he asked, anxiety creeping into his voice. "I mean, if it's too much bother we can always check into a hotel. It's no trouble, I have the number and -"

"Yuugi," Anzu said firmly, "it's fine. My mom said it's fine, and I'm fine with it, so there's no reason you should have to spend good money on a hotel while your house is being fumigated when there's more than enough room here." She sat down at the table, where a second plate of toast had been placed. It was still warm, the butter melting into the crisp brown surface. She inhaled deeply. You never knew how much you wanted toast until someone else made some.

"I heard you upstairs," Yuugi said sheepishly. "So I put on a second batch for you. I'm afraid the last lot got all cold and, uh, eaten."

"You made me breakfast and then ate it for me too?"

"No, Grandpa did." Yuugi glanced around. "Actually, I'm not sure where he is now. I think he said something about fixing that sticky door your mom was having trouble with last night."

"Oh, right."

Ever since her father left when she was ten, Anzu's mother had tried to take over the roles of both parents, but she would never be a handywoman. Likewise Omishi, her long-term boyfriend – currently away on business in Edogawa – would never be able to do more with tools than send himself to the emergency room with a crushed thumb and a bloody hammer. As soon as Grandpa Mutou set foot over the threshold last night he'd seen this situation and set about the place with exclamations of the Mazaki women needing a 'real man' to do 'manly stuff'. Anzu had been tempted to say Jounouchi and Honda already had the burping, farting and scratching themselves in icky places thing covered whenever they came over, but had decided not to when Grandpa Mutou fixed the three-months-broken garbage disposal within five minutes of 'taking a look' at it.

"I think he likes to be appreciated and feel useful," Yuugi said conspiratorially. "His heart stops him doing so much these days, so … y'know. Usually I take care of anything that needs fixing around our house before he notices, so he can't overstrain himself, but he yells when he finds out. He likes having stuff he can do and he's constantly telling me he's not a baby."

"Don't tell my mom that. We have a list of odd jobs half a mile long." Anzu bit into her toast and groaned with pleasure. "So _good_. I had no idea I missed hot toast so much until this moment. Mmm!"

Yuugi looked embarrassed but pleased. Ever since they'd said goodbye to the Millennium Items in Egypt he'd worn a new kind of confidence that reminded Anzu of Atem, and most of the time she kind of liked that. It was like some part of him was still with them, and it was easy to forget that Yuugi was still Yuugi underneath it – still the earnestly forgiving little gamer who used to hide under the bleachers at lunch so no bullies would find him, and whose Gameboy she had broken all those years ago. Times like now, however, Anzu was reminded that when all was said and done, it was Yuugi himself who was the constant, and she found herself grateful for that. Atem could save the world, make dramatic speeches and pull victory from the jaws f defeat, but he wouldn't remember how to make good toast.

"Where did you even find the bread for this?" she asked. They didn't keep any in the house, not even to feed the birds with. Mrs. Mazaki bought bird seed in case she was ever tempted to soften stale rolls in the microwave in a moment of weakness.

"I, uh, packed it."

Anzu stopped chewing to stare at Yuugi. "You packed a loaf of bread? Where? In your _suitcase_?"

He nodded, even more sheepishly. "I can't start the morning without toast, and I remembered you telling me about your mom's diet, so I knew that if I didn't bring my own …" He blushed. "Sorry. Weird, I know, I just -"

"Are you kidding? This is great! Most kids try to sneak drugs and alcohol past their parents. I smuggle bagels and baguettes." Anzu finished her toast with gusto, took a slug of the orange juice Yuugi had also set out and reached for the other triangle. It was a wonderful change from pickled plums and grapefruit – a forbidden pleasure that simultaneously thrilled her and made her think how low-key her thrills had become in the last few months. There was a time when the prospect of drawing Atem – then only Yami – out of the Puzzle just to hear his voice had made her skin tingle with excitement. Now she got the same feeling from baked goods. Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

This was still incredibly good toast, though.

She and Yuugi sat in companionable silence for a while. They felt no need to make conversation just for the sake of making it. Anzu thought about postcards that read how true friendship was being able to sit together and say nothing at all without feeling uncomfortable, and smiled at the top of Yuugi's head as he studied the Bug Away leaflet once more. He looked rumpled, but it suited him. Yuugi always looked a little dishevelled no matter what he was wearing – school uniform, jeans and shirt, a smart suit, it all ended up the same way. He could probably even rumple a helmet. A coiffed Yuugi would make her wonder about the truth of pod people.

The door opened and Grandpa Mutou came in. He was rubbing his hands on an oily rag and grinning broadly.

"There," he said to the room at large. "That's the way to teach a door its place. Now, what else needs fixing in this house?" He blinked and scanned the room. "Meron?"

"Mrs. Mazaki already went to work, Grandpa," Yuugi said without looking up from the leaflet.

"On a Sunday?" He sounded surprised. "Such a dedicated young lady."

Yuugi raised his gaze. Anzu caught the look. He wasn't as bad as he used to be, but Grandpa Mutou was still a bit of a pervert, and was worse than a teenaged boy for getting crushes on unsuitable women. He was mostly harmless, but all the same, Anzu resolved to warn her mother.

"I made you a pot of coffee," Yuugi said as a distraction.

Grandpa Mutou narrowed his eyes. "None of that decaffeinated nonsense, I hope."

"Of course not, Grandpa."

Anzu stifled a giggle. She knew from past grocery trips with Yuugi that he habitually emptied out his grandfather's can of 'Super Super Java' coffee grounds and replaced them with decaff. Grandpa Mutou had kicked up such a stink when Yuugi first mooted changing his brand to help his heart that Yuugi had never brought it up again. That was over a year ago. He'd been secretly switching the two ever since and his grandfather had yet to notice.

"What's so funny?" Grandpa Mutou demanded.

"Nothing," Anzu replied. Then she caught Yuugi's eye and giggled again. The urge seemed to leap from him and gripped her uncontrollably. "Um, just that Yuugi, um, smuggled a loaf of bread into the house in his suitcase."

"So _that _was why you spent so long rearranging your underwear when we were packing."

Yuugi looked mortified. "Grandpaaaa!"

"You're looking well this morning, Anzu," Grandpa Mutou said, waving away his grandson's complaints with a hand.

"Thank you," Anzu said, mentally taking a pinch of salt with his compliment.

"It's nice to see a girl who doesn't spend hours on her appearance and can go a day without make-up." He nodded approvingly. "More teenagers should do that, instead of spending hours applying junk to their faces just so they look like they've barely got any make-up on at all. Ridiculous business if you ask me. My wife never … uh, Anzu? Anzu, where are you -?"

But Anzu could no longer hear him. She was already halfway up the stairs, having suddenly realised she was completely bare-faced, had pulled her hair into a bristly ponytail that made her look like a fishwife, and was wearing her 'apocalypse' clothes – so named because they looked like they'd survived a nuclear holocaust, or at the very least a food fight of epic proportions. For some reason, even though he'd already seen her like this now, the idea of sitting there across from Yuugi and letting him see her that way made Anzu's toes curl inside her slippers.

Her _monster feet_ slippers!

"Oh!" She dived into her bedroom. "My!" She slammed the door. "God!" She caught sight of her zit in the mirror and scrabbled amidst the debris around the base of her dresser for concealer.

Downstairs, Yuugi and his grandfather exchanged a bemused look.

"Women," Grandpa Mutou sighed, shaking his head and picking up the remaining slice of toast Anzu had left behind. "If I live to be a hundred, I will _never_ understand them. Mmm, this is good toast, Yuugi. Any chance of another round to go with my coffee?"

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_**Fin.**_

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End file.
